Along Came Teddy
by Chuck's Prophet
Summary: Human!Cas, Dean, and Sammy being Sammy. Slight AU. "The hunter was quite conversant in weird, but this… this definitely topped the charts on any of Donna Summer's greatest hits." Dean, Sam, and Cas share a quiet Christmas together in the bunker...until something goes terribly wrong. Destiel. One!shot. Rated T for language.


_A/N: Obviously I'm in more of a Christmas mood than I originally planned on being. Based on a prompt game I play with my best friend, who suggested the following three objects: teddy bear, laundry hamper, and shovel. I love you, Eve!_

**Along Came Teddy**

_Word count: 2370_

There was one thing Dean Winchester knew for certain: Bert and Ernie were gay. Nothing else would make better sense—not Lilith, or Alastair, or the dick-wrapped angels pushing for Armageddon, and definitely not the emo kids next door who ate human flesh and bled black goo for fun. As long as Dean had one conviction in his life—that one truth that, no matter how inconsequential, was the truth nonetheless—he could carry on fighting monsters until his last dying breath. And that said a lot, because Dean wasn't a man who lived by convictions.

But this predicament he's gotten himself into isn't quite like anything he's been in before. The hunter was quite conversant in _weird_, but this… this definitely topped the charts on any of Donna Summer's greatest hits.

"Cas, I said I'm sorry."

The angel had his eyes trained to the shelf behind the hunter. Dean couldn't imagine what he was fixed on. There was only a certain extent to the spines on lore and mythology and Men of Letters' experimentations a guy could handle in one sitting period. He hadn't said a word for what felt like centuries. Just sat there, completely stoic, minus his sapphire eyes, strapped and glistening with tears. It was hard to believe that just a little under twenty-four hours ago the bunker was filled with laughter and contentment.

Christmastime wasn't exactly tradition in the Winchester family—not since Dean was still in training diapers—but this year, the two brothers agreed to make an exception for their best friend. Yes, Castiel had given up on the whole Holy Spirit complex once before, but he never lost faith in the boys. So this year, the holiday season wasn't for the man upstairs, or the three wise men, or for a guy who could somehow fit both of his three-hundred pound sacks down a brick threshold, but for Cas, an angel who never had the occasion to experience spiked eggnog.

It all started with a bear. For reasons the eldest will never understand, Sam bought the host of heaven a teddy bear. It wasn't one of those special occasion bears, like the ones that adorned a shrunken camouflage coat to symbolize retirement from the service, or the ones that held a heart-shaped pillow in their lap that said tacky things like 'Be Mine' or 'With Love.' It was just an ordinary, averaged-sized teddy bear with brown fur and big, black gaping buttons for eyes.

Cas loved the thing. He towed it with him wherever he went: into the kitchen, usually when Dean was occupying the room and grilling a mean breakfast steak; into the library, when the youngest was doing research on a possible case; into the bathroom to—well, yeah—and back into bed, where he curled up tight under his covers, always making sure to leave enough space for the prized animal. (Yes, Dean would sometimes watch him before he fell asleep. Of course, in his defense, it was either restlessness or because he needed to know that his friend was safe in a warded-down-to-the-ass bunker. Sometimes it was both.) The hunter didn't question his attachment to the thing, so long as Cas was happy. After all, thank someone for small favors.

Anyway, last night Cas had to take a shower—which Dean was more than thankful for because the angel was _really_ starting to rank. This was also the day the Winchester was going around collecting laundry. When he hit up Cas's room, he heard the faint shrill of the shower cranking into use and found his clothes, trenchcoat and all, lying in a huge mound next to his bed. Dean did what he thought to be morally right in the situation and grabbed the pile before Cas could walk out, _hello, _stark naked. (Try explaining that to a brother whose gaydar was far exceeding normal limitations on the Richter scale.)

_Anyway,_ he didn't end up realizing that the bear was tucked beneath his beige fleece and white-sleeved shirt until after he heard the loud _thump_ from the downstairs washer and lo and behold, white and brown cotton encased the porcelain. He didn't have the heart to tell his friend so he granted him with sleep instead—how he hadn't noticed it was gone until this morning was beyond him, but he let it slide—because God knows he'll need it when he was ranting at Dean.

Now, here they were, sitting in the study, sometime in the late morning, staring each other down. Cas hasn't said a word since he told him, hasn't even moved. He was wearing the "dead guy" robe that Dean loaned him and somehow seemed to fit him better. But Dean didn't want to think about or speak of how great Cas was looking, not when the rest of him was mere inches away from flooding the Grand Canyon.

"C'mon, man, I didn't know." Dean was practically pleading now. "You know I wouldn't do anything like that deliberately."

The angel shifted his intense scrutiny to his lap. Obviously, he was hearing Dean but wasn't taking any of it. The hunter tossed his head and sighed, giving up, pushing out of his chair. "Look, I'm gonna hit up the store for dinner. You have any suggestions?" Dead silence. "Speak now or forever hold your unrequited grudge." More silence. "Great talk."

And with that, Dean grabbed his keys and climbed up the winding stars to the exit. Sam came strolling into the library minutes later, replacing his brother's seat. He looked well, minus the pink playing around his cheekbones and forehead. He must have gotten back from his morning run.

He scanned the room before settling on Cas, propping his elbow on the table. "Still giving him the silent treatment, huh?"

"I'm just very… peeved." His voice was rougher than usual. It sounded like he hadn't spoken in eons.

"Yeah, Dean'll do that," the latter brother scoffed.

"Was he dropped during infantry?"

Sam stifled a laugh. "I know he's not always all there, but Dean has good intentions, you know that."

Cas huffed through gritted teeth. He knew Sam was right.

After all, Cas was the one who insisted his garrison that he be the one to pull the Righteous Man from the Pit. Everyone had doubted him because he was the youngest and felt like he hadn't yet developed a moral compass. Pulling Dean was his message to the seraphim that he was just as capable as any. Of course, if you asked him now, Cas would say that his brethren were right. When he descended to the rescue, Cas was lost. If he hadn't cared so much about what his heavenly friends had thought of him, Cas would have aborted the mission mid-flight. But when Cas branded his hand into a rubicund mark on Dean's shoulder, he found that self-assurance that he needed. He pulled a man that did nothing but good, and he was forever proud.

"C'mon, I have something that'll cheer you up."

Cas narrowed his eyes at the youngest. What could Sam have that could possibly make him feel better?

Soon, he was leading Cas up the same winding staircase from whence Dean left from moments earlier. If this was some kind of intervention Sam was setting up between him and Dean, Cas didn't want any part of it—

The driveway was empty. Outside stood a small headstone with even smaller engravings carved into it. Behind it—he could only imagine how long it took Sam to bury the pot that held them together—was a dozen red roses. Under the arrangement was a small square etched into the dirt.

Cas didn't know what to say. So he began doing thing he knew how to do better than screw up consecutively: apologize. "Sam, you didn't have to—"

"Shh," he said, putting a finger to his mouth. "We're at a service."

The angel lifted his eyes and bent his head like he had done. After a while, Sam began to speak:

"I'm not very good at speech giving. Actually, the last time I spoke in front of a group of people had to have been in freshmen math league and that was just reading a bunch of numbers. But Teddy, you deserve a speech. From day one, you were a stand-up bear. You made my friend laugh and smile and protected him for almost a whole twenty-four hours and for that I owe you one. May you live, rest assured, a happy life in Cotton heaven."

Cas smiled. He was tempted to lift one eyelid to see the brother's face, but he had to remain respectful. He couldn't see, but Sam had opened his and shifted to Cas. "You have anything you wanna add?"

"Teddy," Cas began, stepping forward, "I'll miss you. But don't worry about me. I think I'm in good hands with two brothers."

Sam smiled at that, too, and slung his arm around Cas's shoulders. "Are you good?"

"I'm good."

* * *

><p>Dean came home around noon with two fists full of groceries. The store was only ten miles outside of town, but the day after Christmas was always the worst for commuter traffic. He almost got his side mirror ripped off if that dick that pulled in front of him had been a few inches closer to the passenger side. Then he got cut off going into the freeway by a blue sedan that looked like a clown car with how many people were packed into the backseat. Clearly, they've never heard of an HOV lane or they wouldn't have been riding his ass for three miles.<p>

Today could have been the day that Dean Winchester killed someone. He really felt it in him.

To make matters even worse, when he filed down the stairs and into the study, there was Sam, idling by one of the many bookcases in the library, reading a hefty textbook. He set down the umpteen million bags onto the opposite table with a grunt, shooting his brother Bitch Face #87.

"Hey."

"_Hey_," Dean reiterated, sneering, "thanks for the help, couldn't have made it in here without you."

Sam glanced up from the book, grinning. "You looked like you had it. Besides, I know how you have that whole masculinity complex, didn't want to subtract from that."

"Whatever," he grumbled, then: "where's Cas?"

"Upstairs."

Dean detracted one larger bag from the horde and plodded upstairs. Cas's room was slightly cracked, daylight spilling through the seam. He couldn't see much farther or hear any audible noises, so he hadn't knocked. He stilled one hand on the gun in his back pocket. He pushed on the door with his other holding the bag, tightening his grip and unleashing the glock the vaster the space became.

Cas sat on his bed, a square object gripped in his hands and something around his head. He was leaning against the bedpost and hadn't even jumped when he saw the gun in his friend's hand, aiming directly at him. "Hello, Dean."

The hunter retracted the gun and put it back in his pants. "Is that my MP3 player?"

"Uh, yeah," Cas said awkwardly, untangling himself from the chords.

Dean just stared at him. "Why do you have it?"

"No particular reason, I just wanted to listen to Bon Jovi," he said justly, as if he's told this to his other thousands of best friends. "I'm really fond of 'We Weren't Born to Follow.'"

Dean chuckled lightly, "How is it I'm not more surprised? You can keep it for a while. Just don't tell Sam I have Jovi on there, I'll never hear the end of it." He remembered the surplus bag in his fingers. "Oh, yeah, I-uh, I got you something," he said, lending out the sack.

Cas stared at it for a few more moments, unable to distinguish anything through the surprisingly thick plastic, before transitioning to swing his legs over his bed, latching onto the handle hesitantly. Dean stood in front of him, anxious for his response. He had to add a couple of things to the purchase, but all in all, it was worth it. In a matter of seconds, Cas had his hands on a brand new bear. This one was notably larger and had white fur with a little beige halo above its head. Around its neck was a blue tie.

The angel took a moment to imbibe in the gesture of solitude. Then his lips turned a little and he was staring at Dean when the hunter spoke. "I found the halo and tie at Goodwill. I didn't think it would've been complete without it."

"You really miss the blue tie, don't you?"

"Kind of, yeah," Dean said, rubbing a nervous hand behind his head, laughing. "Do you like it?"

And, ladies and gentlemen, the grand moment Dean Winchester was waiting for: Cas smiled. "I love it, Dean. Thank you." He stood up, setting the stuffed animal near his pillow. "Although, I am stealing that tie," he said. This earned a scarlet rash from Dean.

Then, he was hugging his best friend. He didn't exactly remember when (because he hadn't exactly planned their proximity to be cut this close) but the first-born was returning the embrace, packing him snug against him.

They probably both lingered a little longer than normal bro-code, but when Cas pulled back and kissed him, every code just kind of evaporated in the open air. His heart wrenched inside his chest so hard he could have sworn he pulled a muscle. Cas was so…_warm_…_warmer than warm_. Before he knew what he was doing, he wrapped his arms around the angel, pulling him closer and extending his lips, slipping his tongue past Cas's supple landslide of a mouth. He tasted of last night's eggnog and leftover glazed ham.

"What was that for?" Dean asked, grinning.

Cas pointed to the mistletoe hanging underneath his door. "It's tradition, right?"

Dean scoffed, sloping down for another kiss. "Merry Christmas, Cas."

"Merry Christmas, Dean," he said, returning the lip-lock.

There were two things Dean Winchester knew for certain: Bert and Ernie were gay, and he was completely smitten with the angel boy next door.


End file.
